


Down the Aisles

by dirigibleplumbing



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 3490
Genre: 5 Things, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Crying at Weddings, Dating, Earth-3490, Engagement, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mostly Fluff, Secret Identity, Superhero Registration Act, Weddings, but also some less fluffy moments, references to 616 Civil War though obviously no Civil War takes place, this is 3490 after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 22:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19839721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirigibleplumbing/pseuds/dirigibleplumbing
Summary: “Hey, any word from Ms. Stark?”“She’s still detained,” Iron Man says, straightening up.Steve looks around, checking to see whether they’re needed for the ceremony yet—they’re groomsmen, after all—but Jan is still flitting down the aisle, the great train of her dress flowing behind her like the wake of a ship. “I thought she was going to be one of the bridesmaids,” Steve says.“Well, Stark can be a real flake,” Iron Man grumbles.Steve and Iron Man, then Steve and Natasha, attend 4 Avengers weddings and wedding-adjacent events. Then they have their own.





	Down the Aisles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stonyindustries (kissmyassteroids)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmyassteroids/gifts).



> A gift for [wing-heads](https://wing-heads.tumblr.com/) for the [3490 fest](https://3490fest.tumblr.com)! Hope you enjoy, wing-heads!
> 
> Background relationships are Hank/Jan, Clint/Bobbi, Wanda/Vision, Kitty/Piotr, and Carol/Jess, though there’s nothing to suggest that all those couples are currently together by the end of the story. 
> 
> Parts of this piece reference events that happened in 616, but not in the same order or precisely the same way. You don’t need a particularly in-depth knowledge of 616 to follow the plot, though basic knowledge of Civil War helps.

Ant-Man and Wasp’s wedding is small but colorful; the last time Steve saw this many superheroes in such a small space, the world had literally been on the brink of destruction. Jan’s gown is one of her designs—as if she’d wear anything else for her own wedding—and for all that she doesn’t have wings, she may as well be flying down the aisle, that’s how light and happy she is. 

Beside Steve, Iron Man sniffles again. It’s unmistakable, and Steve feels awkward, but can’t pretend he didn’t hear it. 

“You okay, Shellhead?” 

“Course,” Iron Man says. It’s hard to tell through the voice modulator, but Steve thinks he’s affronted at being asked. 

“It’s okay to cry,” Steve says, ill at ease with the topic but blundering on just the same. “It’s a beautiful ceremony.” 

“Not gonna tell me to ‘man up?’” Iron Man asks. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d take Iron Man’s tone to suggest that it’s some kind of trick question. 

“They tell me times have changed since the 30’s,” Steve says. “Men these days are in touch with our emotions.” 

Iron Man laughs at that, far too loud, like Steve surprised him. He punches Steve in the shoulder. “Shh,” he hisses, all static and digital edges. 

“You’re the one who’s being loud,” Steve reminds him, but he can’t hide his grin. “Hey, any word from Ms. Stark?” 

“She’s still detained,” Iron Man says, straightening up. 

Steve looks around, checking to see whether they’re needed for the ceremony yet—they’re groomsmen, after all—but Jan is still flitting down the aisle, the great train of her dress flowing behind her like the wake of a ship. “I thought she was going to be one of the bridesmaids,” Steve says. It’s too bad, her having to miss it, when she and Jan are so close. 

“Well, Stark can be a real flake,” Iron Man grumbles. 

“I don’t know why you say things like that,” Steve snaps. 

“You don’t think she’s an asshole?” 

“Why would you say that?” 

“Well, ‘bitch’ is sexist,” Iron Man replies. He must see the affront on Steve’s face because he quickly adds, “Sorry, just—I mean, you know what she’s like.” 

“I do,” Steve agrees, firmly, “and that’s why—” 

“Oh! The ceremony’s starting,” Iron Man interrupts, quiet as the armor allows. 

The ceremony is, in fact, starting. 

“We’ll talk later, Cap, I promise.” 

* * *

Iron Man stirs when Steve walks in, shifting in a way that gives Steve the impression he’s being looked up and down. “You’re wearing your uniform?” Iron Man asks. Steve can’t decipher his tone. 

“Well,” Steve says, looking down at his outfit and then back up to the shifting metal plates and meshes of Iron Man’s armor, “so are you.” 

Iron Man emits his jagged, computerized laugh. “Good point.” He watches Steve for a moment, then says, “You okay? It’s just a wedding. Not a real one, even; they’re already hitched, this is just the after-party.” 

Of course Iron Man can tell there’s something on Steve’s mind. “Do you think there will be dancing?” 

“Probably,” Iron Man says slowly. No doubt he can tell that’s not what Steve is concerned about—not exactly, anyway. “I think some of Clint’s friends from the circus will be there. Circus folk seem like the dancing sort, don’t they? I bet there’ll be fire-breathing and juggling, too. I don’t know Bobbi well or much about her friends, but she seems like the type to enjoy a party. I think I overheard Ms. Stark say something about fireworks, too.” 

Steve swallows at the mention of Natasha. 

Iron Man, knowing Steve as well as he does, notices. “C’mon Winghead, what’s up?” 

Steve sighs and sinks onto the couch beside Iron Man. There’s not much sinking to be done, unfortunately; the couch is densely stuffed and tufted in a rich, crimson velvet. Steve wonders idly how Natasha managed to reinforce antique furniture such that it can hold his and Iron Man’s weight with nary a creak. 

“I’m going to—I’m planning to ask Natasha to dance with me,” Steve admits, throwing his head back so it rests on the wooden frame of the sofa. 

Iron Man says nothing for a moment. Then he just says, “What.” 

“If she’ll even be there,” Steve mutters. “I never know which events she’s going to make it to.” 

“Why do you want to ask— _her_ —to dance?” 

Steve frowns and lifts his head to peer at Iron Man’s faceplate. “I know you have your issues with her,” Steve says carefully. He doesn’t quite understand it: why Iron Man, who he usually sees so eye-to-eye with, who works for the woman, thinks of Natasha so differently than he does. They never did discuss the matter further, after Hank and Jan’s wedding, so Steve generally avoids the topic. But they’re friends, the best of friends, and Iron Man had asked, so he’s going to answer. “But I just—she’s just wonderful. And brilliant. And, of course, she’s gorgeous. Did you see her on the dancefloor at the Maria Stark gala last month?”

“Sort of,” Iron Man says, his discomfort so strong that Steve can hear it clearly through the suit’s speakers, through the taut planes of the armor. “I was working.” 

“She was stunning. She moved like—like she was weightless. Like it was effortless..” 

“The tabloids didn’t care much for her, um, look.” 

Steve chuckles. “Didn’t take you for a tabloid guy, Shellhead.” 

“Part of working security,” Iron Man says quickly. “You liked it? The outfit?” 

“What is with you and the outfit?” Steve asks. “I thought it was brave.” 

A week prior to the gala, the Daily Bugle had published a disgusting piece revealing that Natasha had had a double mastectomy due to complications related to injuries she’d suffered in Afghanistan. One of her personal assistants—since identified, sacked, and sued—had detailed to the paper Natasha’s practice of wearing false cups under her bras. In addition to a lewd headline—which still makes Steve want to dismantle the Daily Bugle building with his bare hands any time he contemplates it—the article had included photos of the cups, of Natasha’s underthings, of the high-necked blouses and gowns she had favored ever since her capture. 

The night of the gala, Natasha forwent the cups. In fact, she went entirely without a bra, wearing just an undershirt beneath a deeply unbuttoned, collared blouse. The other women at the event were decked out in gowns and towering heels, glittering, trailing, architectural things crafted in buttresses and pillars of flowing fabric. Natasha wore form-fitting oxblood trousers with a matching waistcoat and blazer sporting black lapels. Her black chelsea boots had perfectly flat soles and looked like they could have come from a mens’ store. Her belt, the buttons of her waistcoat, and the lining of her jacket were a warm, shimmering gold, the vest and jacket tailored to accentuate the open neck of her creamy white top and the flatness of her chest beneath it. 

After the festivities ended, Steve had joined her, Wanda, and Pietro for the ride back to Avengers Mansion, and she’d shucked her waistcoat, blazer, and shoes in the back of the limousine, bunching up her sleeves to fix everyone drinks. The next morning, when Steve had been heading out for his early-morning run, Natasha had been in the kitchen, fussing with the coffee-maker, stripped down to just the trousers and undershirt, a narrow screwdriver stuck behind one ear, her dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy topknot, and a pair of welding gloves stuffed in a pants pocket—a pocket Steve was sure had been sewn shut and not intended to be functional. 

Sometimes, Steve remembers the jut of Natasha’s clavicle as she bent over the kitchen counter, the swipe of grease on one lithe, muscular bicep, the strain of her expertly-tailored trousers against the intrusion into the previously-decorative pocket, and he has to recite the lineup of the 1941 Dodgers until his thoughts get back on track. 

“You thought it was brave,” Iron Man repeats. “You.” 

Steve shrugs. “There’s different kinds of bravery.” 

“Yeah,” Iron Man says, voice hushed and charged with a huff of static from the suit. “Guess so.” 

“Would you tell me why you don’t like her?” 

“I wouldn’t say I don’t like her,” Iron Man replies, defensive. 

“C’mon, is there something I should know? I mean, it’s just a dance, but, I can’t say I’m not hoping—” 

“Fuck,” Iron Man interjects. “Fuck, fuck, I can’t do this.” 

“What is it? Are you okay?” 

“Shit, Steve, I’m sorry. Fuck. Okay.” The armor’s speakers relay a sharp inhale, and then, before Steve can say anything, Iron Man is undoing the catches of his helmet and—

—and lifting it off, oh god, Steve’s going to see Iron Man’s face—

and it’s Natasha. 

Steve gapes. Just like that morning in the kitchen, Natasha’s hair is tied on top of her head, the dark strands looking eminently soft and touchable. This time, Steve notices, there are pins keeping it in place, probably so there’s no chance of any of it falling in her eyes behind the faceplate. Her lipstick is the same shade she’d worn the night of the gala, the deep oxblood of the trousers, vest, and blazer they’ve just been discussing. 

And she’s avoiding Steve’s eyes. “Sorry,” she whispers. 

Steve grasps one of her gauntlets. His mind is racing, rushing to rewrite everything—no, not _everything_ , he reminds himself, just some of the things—that he knows about his best friend and the team benefactor. “Ms. Stark,” he begins. 

She laughs, but it’s a hollow sound with no real mirth in it. She still won’t look at him. “I think at this point you can call me Natasha.” 

“Natasha,” Steve starts again. “Would you like to dance with me at Clint and Bobbi’s party tonight?” 

Her blue eyes finally lock onto his. She’s been right here, all along. “Really? You still want to?” 

“If you do.” 

“Of course I do, Steve, I—but I. I’ve been lying to you, and. I’m going as, you know.” She winces, and gestures at herself with her free hand. “Iron Man.” 

Steve shrugs. “You have a secret identity, I respect that. And I don’t mind dancing with Iron Man. Might be a good thing to wear metal shoes, anyway,” he adds with a hopeful grin. “I don’t have a lot of practice at dancing.” 

She scoffs. “Please, I may not have seen you dance yet, but I’ve seen you on the battlefield plenty. The day you do something that isn’t drop-dead graceful, I’ll eat my armor.” Her face grows serious again, her eyes clouding with apprehension. “Everyone thinks Iron Man is, you know, a man. It helps with the secret identity thing. People will think you like men.” 

“Well, people can think what they like. And it’s true, anyway.” 

“What!” Now it’s Natasha’s turn to gape. 

“I never thought it would come up. I thought I would just date women, it’s, you know, it’s easier.” And, he doesn’t say out loud, they’re usually the ones who ask _him_ out. If it came up, if there were a man he was in love with, he might do things differently—for the right guy, maybe—but there had been Natasha, so Steve hadn’t needed to contemplate it further. “But if it means dancing with you, I don’t mind people saying it.” 

“Holy shit, Captain America is queer and wants to go out with me.” 

Steve chuckles. “Does that mean yes?” 

“Fuck yeah it means yes, what am I, an idiot?”

* * *

“It’s okay to cry,” Natasha says with a smirk. “It was a beautiful ceremony. And someone told me that men these days are in touch with their emotions.” 

Steve bats at her playfully and ducks behind his glass of champagne. “Someone told you that, huh?” 

“Sure did.” Natasha smiles at him. Her lips are the same fire-engine read as her fitted blazer and the circuitry pattern on her necktie. “You really love weddings, huh?” 

“Guess so,” Steve says. “I didn’t go to many before—you know.” 

Natasha nods. They both know what _before_ means, for Steve. “I’ve been to, god, hundreds probably. I never really cared for them until recently.” A flush unrelated to makeup pinks her cheeks. “Because of the Avengers, I mean. I guess I like superhero weddings a lot better than society weddings.” 

“Wanda and Vision are a great couple,” Steve agrees. “And I like seeing everyone getting together for something happy, instead of a crisis or a fight with the X-Men or something.” 

She grins and takes a swig of her wine. “That _is_ pretty great.” 

“Do you think about getting married someday?” 

Natasha jerks for a moment before her crystal blue eyes settle on Steve’s face. “Yeah, actually. I’ve always dreamed of it.” 

“Me too,” he admits. 

Her shoulders relax after that, and she takes another merry drink from her glass. “Hard to imagine, though.” 

“How so?” 

She winces, but still looks much more comfortable than when Steve had first asked. “Look, I just—I’m not trying to hint that you should propose to me or something, okay? I just want to make that clear. I know that’s something people do at other people’s weddings. The romance in the air, and all. I’m not saying I wouldn’t, because—but. Wow. I just mean, we haven’t been dating long, and I know—” 

“Hey.” He reaches across the table and takes one of her hands in his. Her nails are trimmed short and blunt. They’re only filed smooth and glazed with a clear coat of polish in deference to the special occasion; usually they’re ragged and rough, with grease and ground metal dust caked into her calloused skin. “I don’t think you’re fishing for anything. It’s a beautiful wedding, an emotional day. I feel it too. And for the record,” he squeezes her hand, looking up at her from under his lashes, not sure of his footing, “I do think about getting married. Not just someday, to someone, but to you. Nothing we need to figure out or plan on right now. But I’m in this for the long haul, okay?” 

“Okay,” she says, looking at him with an expression of wonder and delight she usually reserves for advanced alien armors or perfectly-timed mugs of hot, black coffee set beside her workstation. She squeezes his hand and gets to her feet. “I’ll get us some champagne to celebrate being not engaged.” 

* * *

Natasha’s leg is bouncing under the table. Steve places a hand on her thigh to steady her, and she scoots her chair over, leaning into his touch. The folding chair leaves little grooves in the grass. 

She takes a deep breath and tears her eyes away from the open bar on the other side of the lawn. “Why are we here again? We barely know Piotr and Kitty.” 

It’s the first wedding they’ve attended since Natasha stopped drinking. Steve can’t say it’s particularly where he wants to be, either. They should be in Stamford, helping. They should be doing their jobs. 

Johnny Storm is still in the hospital. 

Steve sighs and tries to smile at Emma Frost as she passes near their seats. It comes out more of a grimace. He can’t help but wonder whether an all-white ensemble is really appropriate for someone else’s wedding. “We’re here to show solidarity with the X-Men in these uncertain times.” 

Natasha scoffs. “Right.” 

“I can see why you didn’t used to care for weddings.” 

“Yeah, well, at least these two actually _like_ each other. Makes it a little more bearable than the majority I’ve attended.” She stares into her flute of sparkling water, watching the bubbles sparkle and pop as if she can read her fortune in them. 

“Food wasn’t bad, either,” Steve says. 

That gets a soft, narrow smile on her face. “Yeah, well, you’ll eat anything, and plenty of it, Mr. Super-soldier.” 

“C’mon, those appetizers were great. There was a salsa fountain and a dozen different kinds of chips.” 

“Sure, but the dinner—how do you mess up bread?” 

“The bread was surprisingly bad,” Steve agrees. It hadn’t stopped him from eating several slices during the toasts, but still. The texture was off.

“Maybe all the local bakeries are anti-mutant,” Natasha muses, swirling her drink. It helps her to have something in her hand at these things, Steve’s noticed. Something to clutch and sip at while everyone else is drinking. 

“Now that you mention it, the fruit salad was pretty bland.” 

Natasha wrinkles her nose. “Too much honeydew,” she agrees, setting her glass down. 

That’s a promising sign that he’s distracted her from thoughts of the bar. “Do you remember that bruschetta Carol and Jess had at their anniversary party?” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

“That’s the kind of thing I’d want at my wedding. Oh, and that lavender lemonade Jarvis used to make.” 

Natasha hums and licks her lips in agreement. She’s wearing a natural shade of lipstick and a shimmery gloss that tastes like roses when Steve kisses her. “What about dessert? Oh, that could have lavender, too.” 

Steve closes his eyes and thinks of fancy restaurants Natasha has taken him to. “Earl grey lavender ice cream.” 

“Rosemary lavender cake with buttercream,” she says, getting into it. 

“Lavender macarons.” 

“Pomegranate macarons.” 

“Salt caramel macarons.” 

“Mm, pistachio cherry macarons,” Natasha says with a sigh. 

“And a wedding cake,” Steve puts in. “Vanilla butter cake.” 

“Of course. With your shield drawn in meringue and marzipan.” 

Steve laughs. “The bride and groom figurines could be Captain America and Iron Man action figures.” 

Natasha’s luminous grin grows brighter still. She giggles and leans into his shoulder. “If I got married in my armor, I’d be taller than you,” she points out. 

“You’re an Amazon,” Steve agrees. 

“That’s Wonder Woman.” 

Steve affects an innocent face. “Oh, am I not dating an Olympian Goddess?” 

“You could wear lifts. Then I’d have to lean up on my tip-toes to kiss you. Or hover,” she adds, thoughtfully. 

“Or I could dip you.” 

“Or you could dip me,” Natasha agrees. 

“I wish we could get married at the mansion,” Steve says, before he can stop himself. “I love the tower, but…” 

“I know, hot stuff.” 

“You’d keep your last name,” Steve says, a guess more than a statement. 

“Have to,” she says mildly. “Branding and all that. But everyone already knows I belong to you,” she adds, elbowing him a little in the ribs. 

“Likewise,” he says, pressing in to give her a peck on the cheek. He gets a fresh whiff of her perfume, something smoky and just slightly floral. “Sam would be best man.” 

“Jim would be my maid of honor,” Natasha grins. “And Carol would also be my maid of honor, I guess.” 

“Jarvis could walk you down the aisle.” 

“Do you think he’d want to?” 

“Of course he would, sweetheart.” 

Natasha’s eyes are distant in thought. “My lawyers put together a prenup the same week we started dating, you know.” 

“Really?” Despite the years they’ve been together, the practices of the super-rich still boggle his mind sometimes. “What’s it say?” 

“Oh, I didn’t let them keep the first draft. It left you with nothing. Even if I cheated or became a super-villain. Total shit. I made them re-do it so everything gets split down the middle.” 

Steve goggles at her. “You don’t mean _everything_.” 

She frowns. “Well yeah, everything. The company, the assets, the armors—”

“Your _suits_?” 

Natasha makes a half-shrug. “They’re worth a lot.” 

“You hate other people having your tech. It’s one of the things you hate the most,” Steve reminds her, still flabbergasted. “Magic, people stealing your tech, heart attacks—”

“You’re not just anyone. And splitting things down the middle is fair. That’s marriage.” 

“What if _I_ cheat or become a super-villain?” 

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t. Even if you were unhappy, you wouldn’t cheat. And the idea of you becoming a super-villain is ridiculous.” 

“The idea of _you_ becoming a super-villain is ridiculous.!” 

“You clearly haven’t been reading what the anti-Registration zealots have been saying,” Natasha replies with a dark, bitter smile. 

“Sure I have, and it’s a lot of bullshit. You know I oppose Registration as currently written. There aren’t enough safeguards for people’s identities. It could be used to essentially draft or incarcerate young super-powered people.” Natasha opens her mouth to counter this, but he holds up a hand to stop her, and continues. “I know it’s well-intentioned, and I know you and Reed are working on improving it. I’m saying, I get where they’re coming from, and their accusations are preposterous. They’re making you out to be some kind of fascist!” 

“Hey, sweetie, it’s okay.” She tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “The way you’re going on. It’s not _you_ they’re talking about.” 

“No, it’s you, which is a lot worse,” Steve grumbles, crossing his arms. “Anyway, I’m sure the prenup is very fair, I’d just like to read it, is all. You can be hard on yourself, and you don’t need to be.” 

“Of course you can read it, honey pie, there was never a question of that.” 

“And I’d like Jen and Matt to look at it, too,” Steve adds, though he’s mollified now and his anger is losing steam. 

“No problem.” 

“And I’d want to write my own vows.” 

Natasha’s ears gain a warm, pink tinge. “Me too,” she says. “You wouldn’t want a traditional Catholic service?” 

“Nah, it wouldn’t feel right. I wish we could have Thor officiate,” Steve says. “Then there’d be a god present, at least.” 

She laughs at that, but it’s a little sad. They both miss Thor. “So no giant brood of Catholic children, either?”

“Nah,” he says again. “I don’t think whoever wrote the commandment about multiplying was a superhero. Someday, maybe, but—with things the way they are, I wouldn’t want to be a parent.” 

“Me, neither,” Natasha says. She reaches for where his hand rests on her leg and intertwines their fingers. “Yeah, maybe someday. If we could retire.” 

“There are so many young heroes, too. They need looking after. Support.” 

“Exactly.” 

“You’d make a great mom, though. If you ever wanted to become one.” 

Natasha glows under the praise. “You’d make a great dad too, Steve.” 

“They used to call us the team Mom and Dad, you know. Even before we were dating.” Well before anyone knew her secret identity, too. He squeezes her hand. “It would be nice to have an Avengers wedding. Something happy, for all the superheroes—and the X-Men—to get together and celebrate.” 

She chuckles. “Do we even know anyone who isn’t a superhero?” 

Steve cocks his head. “I don’t think Happy’s ever been a superhero.” 

“Happy would be the only non-super allowed,” Natasha agrees. “Well, and everyone’s kids, I guess they aren’t superheroes. _Yet._ ” 

“Give Danielle a chance to learn to walk before you start working on her super-suit,” he advises. 

She laughs, a clear, bright sound that fills Steve’s heart with warmth. 

They sit like that for some time, fingers twined together, leaning against each other. A group of young mutants, dressed in array of tulle gowns, three-piece suits and ties, and X-Men uniforms, plays horseshoes on the lawn. Hank McCoy and Logan sit under a tree, speaking animatedly. Logan knocks back two beers while Steve watches, while Hank sips a cocktail from a copper cup. Other guests drift and mingle among the dining tables, trays of food, the open bar, and the dance floor. 

“Holy shit, Steve,” Natasha says. “We just planned our wedding, discussed finances, children, and long-term life plans.” 

“Oh my god,” Steve meets her eyes, wondering if his are as wide as hers. “Did we just get engaged?” 

“Steve, I think we just got engaged!” 

“Natasha, we’re engaged!” 

“Congratulations!” Natasha says, then throws her head back and laughs so long and loud that Hank and Logan turn to stare. 

“Well,” Steve says. “I _have_ been living with you for a decade.” 

Natasha brushes a tear of laughter from one eye. She takes a moment to reach a calm enough state to speak without breaking into giggles. “As roommates,” she says, as if correcting him. 

“And as partners,” he points out. “For years.” 

“Fine, you’re right, we’re in great shape to be engaged.” 

“Did I ask you, or did you ask me?” 

She hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know, but I’m telling everyone that you got down on one knee and offered me an engagement ring which I will be picking out at Tiffany’s later this evening.” 

Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop smiling. “Sounds good.” 

Natasha falls forward, cackling again, her forehead resting on the edge of the table. “Oh my god,” she says, voice high and a little maniacal, “we got _engaged_. By _accident_. At an X-Men wedding!” 

“We’re engaged!” Steve agrees, and then he’s laughing too. 

* * *

Natasha debuts her Iron Woman armor at their wedding. It makes a statement, after all, for one of the heads of Registration to reveal her secret identity to the world. 

She wears Steve’s mother’s veil. Jan sewed special little magnets into the lace so it sits perfectly on Natasha’s helmet. 

After they say “I do,” Steve takes Natasha in his arms, and dips her into their first kiss as a married couple. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me [on Tumblr](http://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/). There's also a [tumblr post for the fic](https://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/post/186342389042/down-the-aisles-dirigibleplumbing-marvel) for your sharing needs.


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